


Tuille

by asuralucier



Series: Sugar [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, College Stupidity, Established Relationship, Failed PWP, M/M, Tattoos, dirty talk kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 11:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15363981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: ”I went out last night,” Elio tells me, in the same tone of voice that he might have used to inform me that he’d helped someone bury a body. “But you have to have to promise to never tell Mom and Dad.”Oliver visits Elio after his first week in the dorms at Yale. The result is about what you’d expect.(A brief follow-up toSugar, please read that first if you haven’t already otherwise none of this will make sense. An attempt at Oliver POV that segued brilliantly into a failing exercise in pwp -- which in this case probably means plot! what porn?)





	Tuille

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I was done with this 'verse but I couldn't get the idea of Elio and Oliver navigating university, not to mention Elio getting an ill-advised tattoo out of my head. Also omg what, guys, 800+ kudos for _Sugar_ is AMAZING. Thank you all so much. This is meant to be read as a standalone as I figure out if there is more plot...there probably is, but I'd like to have a more concrete idea of the plot first before I promise anything further. 
> 
> In other news, I cannot porn for the life of me, and whoever figures out the significance of Elio's tat gets a cookie! x

The Elio that greets me in the doorway to his dorm room is disheveled. He’s got glitter on his cheek and a slightly suspicious red-pink mark right by his collarbone. I press my thumb against it and hey, wouldn’t you know? He colors right on cue like the mark. Elio’s got a thing for my thumbs, I’ve since learned that. 

“I um,” he swallows, equal parts sleepy and surprised at the same time, “Hi. I thought you were coming later?” 

“It _is_ later. Past eleven,” I give him a pointed look and step inside. I hadn’t been part of his moving-in fanfare just a week and a bit before, but the room looks lived in and is starting just to acquire that mild dry-stink that comes when boys of a certain age move out of the house and forget that laundry’s a thing. I’m still a little like that, but I am not as fussy as Elio, therefore that sort of thing isn’t terribly important to me. I recognize his bedding on the bottom bunk so I pat the top bunk with ease, “C’mon, even your roommate’s managed to get up.” 

Elio sighs and flops himself down on the single mattress again, exhaling loudly against his pillow face down. His words are muffled, but I mostly manage to catch them, “Try he didn’t come back.” 

“Oh,” I reach to pinch him by the ankle the way I sometimes do, and he makes a noise. “Scoot.” 

Elio cuts me with a slightly incredulous glance when he shifts, “You. Are so going to break the bed.” 

“That hurts my feelings,” I say with the ease of someone who’s heard it all before (after all, I have). “I once lived in a dorm, y’know. It was a lot of fun.” Although, my experience with that part of my life has taught me that caution is key so I watch my head very carefully when I lie down on the flimsy mattress next to Elio; it gives, like others have been here before. Maybe I have. These things make their rounds in the most unusual of ways. “Nobody’s really complained, as far as I know.” 

“You say that like people do,” he leans up against me. “The next thing you’re going to tell me is that you have a complaints box at work.”

“We do have a complaints box,” I say. “It’s been moved next to Samuel’s office since he’s become the chair of department.” Although Samuel is not technically allowed to discuss its contents, he is well within his rights to complain generally about anonymous dissatisfactions of his department, which he does to me over....what was the last thing we drank? Ouzo, I think, leftover from his and Annella’s most recent holiday to Cyprus. 

“That is _gross_ , Oliver.” Elio makes a face. “You know that’s not what I meant. I meant.” 

“What do you mean?” It’s a bit mean of me, I guess because I _do_ know what he means. If Elio is allowed to tease me about this, then I am allowed to be a little difficult. “If you mean my other job, we use Survey Monkey. We have evaluations once a month, if you don’t cut it, they give you a free dildo as severance and send you on your way. It’s a very serious business.” 

“Survey Monkey. Fuck off.” Elio blinks blearily and endeavors to stab me with his toe. I dodge as gracefully as I can given the cramped space and shift so I’m nearly covering him with my body. I press my nose in against the crook of his shoulder and his defiance melts away into a little sigh. 

“I’m serious. I keep saying to our IT guys that we should upgrade our software to at least Microsoft Excel.” 

One of his hands raise up to tangle listlessly in my hair. Elio takes his time, maybe college will teach him the rarest lesson of patience, after all. “...Love it when you talk dirty to me, dude.” 

“Shut up, dude,” I say, leaning in to touch my nose against his. “Stop stealing my jam, bad surfer talk’s my wheelhouse.” Then I kiss him and there is nothing to Elio that is unfamiliar to me anymore. The way his hips arches up to meet me, the way his tongue bids me to take my time too as he licks my teeth. He tastes like stale booze, but that’s not terribly surprising. 

Elio does suck in a sharp breath when I press my thumb against his jutted hipbone. I’ll have to report back to Samuel to say that the freshman fifteen are taking their sweet time with Elio, too.

Not that I mind. 

“...What?” I pull back slightly and look at him. “Did you have a little _too_ much fun last night?” 

Elio looks...guilty up close. It’s not something that he and I have ever explicitly spoken about, I guess, although it’s probably something that we should talk about. I’m not sure which one of us keeps putting it off. If that mark is anything to go by, Elio is probably not lacking for attention. 

“ ‘S not like that,” he swallows. “I’d never.” 

“Hey,” I say. “It’s not as if I’m jealous.” 

“I wouldn’t _do_ that,” Elio says. It sounds like he is saying something else entirely but I can’t seem to puzzle it out right now. As if I’m someone who would “do that,” whatever ‘that’ happens to be. “I just.” 

“Just?” Part of me wants to be worried and the other part wants to be turned on. It’s kind of a delicate balance that I have to get just right. 

“I went out last night,” Elio tells me, in the same tone of voice that he might have used to inform me that he’d helped someone bury a body. “But you have to have to promise to never tell Mom and Dad.”

“How much do you really think I tell your parents?” I snort. I skim the waistband of Elio’s cotton pants to make a point. 

“You did tell them about Tinder,” Elio’s fingers clamp tightly around my wrist. 

“Are you ever going to let that go?” I roll my eyes. “It’s only supposedly a fun thing I’ll never do again.” 

“Nope, never.” He grins and pulls me in for another kiss. “Not even if you’re being clever.” 

I don’t buy it, “...C’mon. You’re not going to distract me.” 

“Yes? You say that as if I haven’t had practice.” We’re in Elio’s element now, using his words to tentatively curl around my dick, as real as his limbs. But yes, yes he has been practicing and yes, I’ve been liking it. 

“Tell me,” two can play this game. And it is, still a game. It’s a game of touches and almosts and not quites and I-got-you and I win. If I’m not allowed to touch the waistband of his pants then I am good. I can adhere to the other rules made for me. I lift up his t-shirt and lick my way up his torso. I touch his nipples, feather light, I just want him to want. I’d gotten him to want me with just my eyes before so this is small fry. 

“Tell me. I promise I won’t tell.” I say cajolingly against his skin. “Short of you being knocked up I’m not even gonna laugh.” 

Elio’s breath shorts, “ ‘M not pregnant!” 

“What can I say, I’ve got a wild imagination. ‘S gonna keep going round and round until you tell me.” 

“Okay, okay.” Elio relents. He lifts his hips pointedly again. “Help me? But be nice.” 

“I’m always nice, smart ass,” I assure him with a swift kiss and tug at the waistband of his pants. I’m rewarded with.

A tattoo. And not just any tattoo. The lettering is just a bit crude and crooked, but I can make out _אורים ותמים_ just about. It spans diagonally from his hip bone and almost towards Elio’s inner thigh.

“Dear Lord,” I say. “Even I don’t have a tramp stamp.” 

Elio colors, “See, I knew you were going to say that. Some people talked me into it and I. I dunno. I just did it.” 

“You probably should have gotten a better tattoo artist,” I pull down his pants so that the material bunches around his knees. “Or maybe he was too distracted looking at your dick.” 

“She,” Elio corrects me. “And maybe.” There’s just a smug edge to his voice. 

“Yeah?” I grip my fingers around his cock and Elio twitches reliably in my hand. “Well, your dick is very nice,” to prove my point I have to move a bit awkwardly again, and I know Elio isn’t paying attention to that. First, I suck my thumb so I can press spit against the line of his tattoo. And then I press my lips to it, and he makes a wonderful noise that goes all the way to the back of my balls. After that, I kiss the tip of his erection before taking him entirely into my mouth. I have a harrowing suspicion that Elio likes it when I do things in order.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he breathes out. “Fuck.” 

Elio pushes forward again and I take him easily against my throat, but the bottom bunk really isn’t optimal for this kind of thing, and I bump my head.

“Fuck!” I say. 

“Oh, shit,” Elio blinks at me. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” I inhale. “I’ve had worse. A client kicked me in the head once.” 

Elio snorts, “Another hazard of the job?” 

“There are a lot,” I tell him holding a serious expression as much as I can manage. Even if a tattoo artist was maybe distracted, I am, in fact, very distracted. “Here, why don’t I just…” 

By the time Elio spills over my hand, I’ve learned every inch of his tattoo. I think I even taste the ink. 

 

“Promise you won’t tell?” Elio looks at me. The strangely-weighted intensity of his brown-green gaze bears down on me. Otherwise, he is hiding against my sternum. 

“This is where Annella and Samuel draw the line, is it?” I pull absentmindedly at one of his more stubborn curls. “You getting a tattoo. You don’t have to tell them.” 

“It feels weird telling them,” he shrugs. “I’ve always told them everything.” 

Everything except. I almost think I’m supposed to finish that sentence with something unpleasant. But I don’t. I like the way Elio relaxes against me and mouths my skin as if he is keeping parts of me to himself once I leave again. We do have the weekend and the weekend is a very long time. 

“Why don’t I get one too?” I grin. “Maybe not what you got though. That’s too weird. But we can have another secret. You know that tat means you’ll never successfully date again.” 

Elio grins at me and kisses me. He’s still taking his time tasting himself, “...So what? I like having secrets with you.”


End file.
